


After the Key Party - Brunch at Citadel

by alley_oops, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Sam Worthington and Ryan Kwanten [175]
Category: Actor RPF, Australian Actor RPF, Citadel (Journalfen RPG), True Blood RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 13:38:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14137143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alley_oops/pseuds/alley_oops, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica
Summary: This is a re-posting (archiving) of all logs for the Sam Worthington/Ryan Kwanten storyline in the BDSM RPS RPGCitadel.





	After the Key Party - Brunch at Citadel

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-posting (archiving) of all logs for the Sam Worthington/Ryan Kwanten storyline in the BDSM RPS RPG [Citadel](http://citadel.dreamwidth.org/read).

"Don't bother getting dressed," Sam tells Ryan after their shower, pulling on his jeans and buttoning up his own shirt. "Just fold up your clothes and we'll put them at the front desk for after."

"Oh. Um. Okay," Ryan says, tossing his jeans onto a chair. He'd been grateful that he happened to pack a fairly loose pair which would conceal the black plug in his ass. But if he's going out there naked anyway... Choosing a shirt from his suitcase, he folds it up with the jeans and tries to look casual, like he wanders around like this all the time. In front of _other_ people.

Sam grins and crooks a finger at his boy, beckoning him closer.

Oh dear, that grin... If Ryan weren't nervous already, he would be now. He knows that gleam in Sam's eye. Biting his bottom lip, he fights the urge to drop to his knees right there, and cautiously closes the distance between them. "Sir?"

"Let's change out your collar," Sam says, producing Ryan's at-home collar from behind his back. He unclasps the chain Ryan wears when out and trades it for the strip of black leather with its D rings.

Ryan's face flushes, and he ducks his head on a shy grin. "Thank you, Sir," he murmurs, very touched that Sam thought to bring the collar with them. "You knew we'd wind up here, eh?"

"Pretty much," Sam says, his grin widening. He reaches behind him, into his bag, and pulls out a leash and a length of chain. "Which is why I brought these too." The chain has a clamp at one end and branches into a Y at the other end with two more clamps. "This one," he says, holding up the first clamp, "goes on your P.A." He clips it into place. "And these," holding up the other end, "go on your nipple rings," clamping those into the place.

Completely stunned, Ryan can only stare down at himself. "Oh, my god," he whispers. Sam has told him many times that this day was coming -- when he'd chain all of Ryan's piercings and then lead him on a leash through the Citadel crowd, Ryan's tattooed hole on vivid display. Fuck, his whole _body_ feels hot now. "Yes, Sir," he whispers, and damn it his traitor of a cock is already swelling. "Shall I get on my knees now, Sir?"

"Not quite yet," Sam says, removing two links from the chain connecting Ryan's nipples and cock, making it that much tighter. "There," he clips the leash to Ryan's collar. "Now you can get on your knees."

Ryan whimpers softly, a shock of response jerking through him before he's able to obey. Then he slips soundlessly to his knees at his lover's feet, his head bowed. _Oh, god_.

Fuck. His cock straining against the front of his jeans, Sam slips his wallet into his back pocket, picks up Ryan's clothes and his keys. He leads his boy to the door and closes it behind them, heading straight for the elevators.

Since he and Sam got together a year and a half ago, Ryan has been doing a lot of crawling. Thank goodness, because before that he was out of practice, and a crowded Citadel public room is not a place where he wants to worry about his form. Now, though, he can focus completely on his sir, smoothly following him with the polished grace of an athlete, kneeling up when Sam pauses by the lifts and just lightly resting his cheek against his sir's thigh.

"Good boy," Sam murmurs, downright fucking thrilled when the elevator opens and it's already occupied. The man looks to have roughly a decade, maybe even two on his companion, but they're both attractive and well-dressed and the woman gives him a huge smile after running her eyes over Ryan.

The quiet praise settles Ryan further, and the faintest of smiles tugs at his lips as he crawls into the elevator after Sam. He keeps his gaze down, his spine straight, and it doesn't even occur to him to be curious about the other people standing so close. The chains are cool against his skin but rapidly warming, and every brush of metal against his flesh helps him feel more steady, more securely owned. His sir is all that's important in the world.

"He's lovely," the woman says with a vague accent that Sam can't quite place. "I hope you don't mind me saying."

"Not at all," Sam responds with a nod and a smile. "Thank you."

_I'm his_ , Ryan thinks, like he can somehow telepathically transmit the message. But then he realizes that he hardly has to; it really couldn't be more screamingly obvious. God, he loves Sam.

The elevator dings and the doors open. Sam holds them for the couple and then leads Ryan out and around to the front desk, dropping off his clothes with the concierge. "If you can have our other bags brought down?" he says, handing over their keycards. "We'll be leaving after we eat."

Ryan keeps his gaze humbly downcast while he waits at Sam's side. His sir's timing is perfect, he realizes: switching to top Tom at the key party last night was such an anomaly for Ryan, and left him more unsettled than he had expected it to. Now his head is right back where it belongs, and he breathes easier.

"Come on, boy," Sam orders, snapping the leash against his leg as he steps away from the desk and heads for the dining room, expecting Ryan to keep up.

Swallowing his usual _yes, Sir,_ Ryan follows after. He lopes at Sam's heels, aware of the noise of other guests as they enter the dining room, but keeping his focus solely on his sir. Except... god, why does Citadel keep it so cold in this freakin' place? Don't they know there are a lot of poor subs going naked?

The hostess cheerfully seats them at a table in the centre of the room and hands Sam a menu. "Your server will be with you in a moment," she says, gaze flickering to Ryan. Obviously her gaydar is on the fritz because she never would have pegged Sam Worthington as gay. Damn.

Hesitating slightly, Ryan kneels up at Sam's side. He's not sure whether he has permission to speak freely; Sam didn't say. But he's also not certain if his sir wants him to stay down on all fours, the better to display his tattoo. Exhaling softly, Ryan reminds himself to stop worrying entirely -- it's not his job to think right now.

Reading over the menu, Sam sets the leash in his lap and places his hand on Ryan's neck, fingers rubbing over his collar. "French toast or bacon and hash browns?" Hand-feeding breakfast's always messy but he has no intention of letting Ryan up from the floor.

_Oh, fuck_. This is going to be a hell of a mess. "French toast," Ryan whispers, wondering just how much maple syrup is going to end up on him. Hash browns, though, they would surely be even more difficult to lick neatly off Sam's fingers. "Please."

When their server comes, Sam orders French toast for Ryan and the full breakfast for himself, eggs over really hard, coffee black. "Would you like some orange juice, boy?" he asks Ryan.

"Yes please, Sir." Ryan locks his fingers together at the small of his back. Even the slightest movement pulls on the chains and tugs at his piercings, sending lust shocking through him like tiny dangerous sparks.

"Two juices please," Sam tells the server, watching as he walks away before telling Ryan, "I want your head on my foot, your ass in the air. I want everyone who passes to be able to see your tattoo and know just how fucking owned you are."

"Yes, Sir," Ryan whispers, a flush crawling over his body. He takes just a quick necessary glance around to check how close he might be to a stray chair, or a stranger's legs, and then shifts onto all fours. Laying his cheek on Sam's boot he moans softly, and sinks down even further.

Sure enough, Ryan's movements draw a look or two and those become stares as the other members take notice of the tribal sunburst outlining his hole. Soon there's a good dozen people, maybe more, all taking notice and pointing the mark out to their companions. Let them look, Sam thinks, slowly drinking his coffee when the waiter brings it. Not a fucking one of them gets to touch his boy. And not a fucking one of them can mark their subs in the same way without everyone knowing he did it first. It's not often he thinks that way. Maybe Alex is rubbing off on him.

Ryan is blissfully unaware of the attention he's receiving; otherwise, he wouldn't be able to relax the way he does. As it is, he doesn't even feel the chill of the floor against his skin, although he does feel incredibly vulnerable having his hole on display like this. But the immense pride he feels at having his sir claim him so publicly -- it outweighs every other feeling.

"Excuse me?"

Sam looks up and almost does a double take. The woman standing in front of him is drop-dead gorgeous with long dark hair, dark eyes and cinnamon skin. Christ. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry to bother you," she says with what he's pretty sure is some kind of South American accent. "But I was hoping you might be willing to tell me who did the work on your boy."

_Oh. God._ Ryan's first instinct is to close his legs. Of course an instant later he remembers himself and his face flushes hot as he shifts slightly, trying to make the view even better. People are noticing. They're noticing, and admiring, and if Ryan stood on a chair in the center of the room and shouted, he couldn't make it any clearer how completely he belongs to the man sitting above him.

"Dan Hurley," Sam says. "Hold on. I think I have an extra card for him," pulling his wallet from his back pocket and handing one over. "He works for Citadel and he's fantastic."

"Thank you," the woman says, taking the card, her fingers brushing across Sam's as she does. "I'd like to have some work done on my girl," she nods towards a table a few rows over and a small blonde woman nods back when Sam looks over. "But I can't imagine putting her in anyone's hands without a recommendation."

"Well, he did my boy's piercings," Sam says, taking a sip of his coffee, "as well as the tattoo and we're so happy with him we're going to have him do a brand for us in a couple of months."

"A branding?" the woman's eyes flash with pleasure. "I don't suppose you'll be doing it publicly?"

_A couple months???_ Ryan's eyes open wide with surprise, but fortunately no one can see that with his face pressed to Sam's boot. He had no idea Sam was thinking along those lines, of such an immediate timeline.

"No." Sam shakes his head. "I'm afraid not. It'll be done in a private ceremony with a few close friends in attendance."

"That's too bad," the woman says. "By the way, I'm Juliana." She holds out her hand. "And you're Sam Worthington, yes?"

"Yes." Sam nods, standing to shake her hand, mindful of Ryan's head on his foot, the leash held loosely in his free hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"No, no, the pleasure's all mine. Avatar is one of my favourite movies. Somersault too, and your Macbeth."

Oh now she's got his attention. Everyone mentions Avatar but to know the others? "Not too many people have seen those outside Australia," he says with a smile.

It takes real fucking effort for Ryan to keep still and hold his position. Who is this woman? Why is she buttering up his sir? And isn't it about time she went and showed her girl some attention? Damn.

Juliana smiles. "I think I've seen pretty much everything you've been in," she says. "I had to search some of them out, but it was worth it."

Fuck. So much for just being interested in Ryan's tattoo. Sam grins. "Thanks."

"I don't suppose there's any chance you and your boy would like to play with us?" Juliana says, certain she hasn't mistaken his interest in her.

Fuck fuck fuck. Sam bites his bottom lip for a moment, _thisclose_ to drawing blood and it takes real effort not to jump on the offer. It's been a long time since he's felt such a strong attraction to a woman. "Thank you, but I'll have to say no," he says finally. "My boy doesn't play with women."

Ryan shuts his eyes, listening intently. By the sound of it, Juliana would be just as happy to play with Sam without his boy involved at all, and perhaps not even her girl as well. But Sam is turning her down on the assumption that he and Ryan are a package deal, when of course he'd be well within his rights to simply park Ryan in a corner and go off to enjoy himself. Another time, Ryan might try - very discreetly - to let Sam know that he has his blessing to do whatever. But like this... no way. Ryan won't speak out of turn.

"Then maybe you and I could get together, some other time," Juliana says with a smile, pulling a card from her purse and handing it over.

Sam takes the card even though he should probably cut this off right here, right now. Juliana Amaral. Imports and exports. He nods. "My schedule's pretty busy but maybe the next time I'm in town," he says, not really meaning it for one minute.

Juliana smiles. "Enjoy your breakfast and I meant what I said when I stopped by. The tattoo is beautiful work. Made even more beautiful by your boy."

"Thanks." Sam watches her walk away and sits back down. "Kneel up, boy," he orders.

Ryan does so immediately, and though his spine is as straight as ever, his shoulders hunch just a little. 

Sam slides his hand into Ryan's hair, tugging him down so he's resting his head on his leg. "I love you," he murmurs. "So fucking much."

Rubbing his cheek against Sam's thigh, Ryan feels some of the tension melt from his muscles once more. "I love you, Sir," he whispers, but he's too nervous to get into anything more involved than that right now. They'll have to talk about it later, when he's not naked on the floor.

"Even if you did play with women, I wouldn't have accepted her offer," Sam says softly, combing his fingers through Ryan's hair. "I was already apart from you last night and I've been looking forward to this," he tugs the leash with his other hand, "for such a long fucking time."

"Thank you, Sir," Ryan whispers, and sighs happily. "Your boy has been waiting for this, too. Wanting to show everyone how thoroughly fucking owned I am. How completely yours."

Sam continues running his fingers through Ryan's hair, letting them trail lower to his collar, following its lines. So utterly content. "Here comes our food," he says finally, as their waiter heads towards them with two plates. "I don't know about you, but I am _starving_."

Ryan flicks a tiny glance at the approaching server, but then drops his gaze. He rubs his cheek over Sam's thigh again, grounding himself against the uncertainty of what's coming.

Their plates set in front of him, a second waiter delivering their orange juice, Sam cuts the French toast up into pieces. The kitchen has thoughtfully provided a small bowl of maple syrup and he dips a small piece into it. "Here," he says, a moment before actually offering Ryan the toast. Some sirs might get a kick of embarrassing their boys but he's sure as hell not one of them. Not like that anyway.

Straightening up, Ryan lips the morsel carefully from Sam's fingers. He chews and swallows before licking the last of the sticky syrup away. His stomach has been in knots since Sam put the chains on him, and he hadn't even realized how hungry he is.

Sam sees that Ryan gets a couple more pieces before he takes a break to scarf down some bacon and one of his eggs. "Thirsty?" he asks, holding one glass of juice to Ryan's lips, unable to stop staring at his boy.

Ryan nods, then takes several careful sips. "Thank you, Sir," he whispers, licking his lips clean. God, the heat he can feel radiating off Sam's body -- it nearly distracts him entirely from their breakfast.

"You are the hottest thing in this room," Sam murmurs, leaning in to kiss Ryan, tongue delving into his mouth.

A shock of lust jerks through Ryan's body, and he whimpers at the unexpected kiss. He fists his hands tightly together at the small of his back to keep from grabbing at his lover. "Sir," he whispers, dying to touch Sam but so worried that now is not an appropriate time to ask for anything.

"Yeah?" Sam grins, sitting back a bit.

"Please," Ryan whispers again, and lets himself look up and meet Sam's eyes for the first time in what seems like hours. "Sir, please let your boy touch you. Let me please you."

Sam's grin broadens. "I thought you were hungry? For food, I mean," he clarifies with a chuckle.

"I was," Ryan murmurs, and turns his head to nuzzle Sam's hand. "I need you more. Please."

Sam nods, Ryan's words, and the sound of his voice when he's saying them, getting to him every time. "Okay. You have permission," he tells him, settling back in his chair.

Ryan nearly melts with relief, even stiff as he is with excitement. At moments like this - most of the time, really - he feels like he lives to give his sir pleasure. And the effort of _not_ touching Sam - ever - just drains him. He shifts around to kneel between Sam's thighs, and rubs his cheek against the fly of Sam's jeans before beginning to mouth over the ridge of his lover's cock through denim.

"You are so fucking beautiful," Sam murmurs, tugging on Ryan's hair, his cock straining eagerly against his zipper.

With a soft whimper of response, Ryan undoes Sam's jeans, spreading his fly open. He breathes his sir in, then begins licking the length of his cock. He shifts to make sure he wets every bit before nuzzling down and fitting his lips to the root, sucking hard.

Sam groans, fighting to keep his eyes open, his gaze focused on his boy's mouth. It feels so fucking good, everything else, everything around them, completely forgotten.

His hands behind his back once more, Ryan goes down on his sir with long smooth pulls of his cock, lips and tongue working to seek out every sensitive spot. Lapping at a drop of precome that he finds, then dipping his tongue into the slit for more.

"Christ..." Sam sinks both hands into Ryan's hair and pushes deeper into his throat, eyes closing despite his best efforts, the feel of it... oh, fuck - beyond brilliant. "That's it, boy. Fucking take it," he murmurs.

Ryan struggles against the hold on his hair for just a moment, trying to get a better angle. Then he opens up and just _takes_ , feeling the head of Sam's cock strike the back of his throat again and again.

Pleasure humming steadily through his veins, Sam pumps his hips, driving his cock even deeper, harder, into Ryan's throat. He opens his eyes again, watching his boy take it, his arousal building with every thrust.

Water stands in Ryan's eyes and he tries to blink it away, looking up and focusing on his lover's face. This is all that matters: making his sir feel good, being whatever he wants, as publicly as Sam wants.

It's the tears in Ryan's eyes that send Sam over. Have his cock pulsing, spurting hotly, straight down into his boy's stomach. Filling him. Using him. Marking him. _Mine._

Ryan gags, but swallows as much as he can. He pulls off with a gasp, then frantically licks up every stray drop, cleaning Sam's skin and then licking more just because he wants to.

"Good boy," Sam praises, feeling completely wrung out. Christ. Watching Ryan, the way his mouth moves over him, cleaning up every last trace. "Give me a kiss."

"Yes, Sir." Straightening his back, Ryan lifts his head and presses his lips to his sir's. His body is damn near vibrating with need, but his mind is clear as glass, full of nothing but peace.


End file.
